Afflittion's bitter : lifewillfoon.be done Pleafure 'hallbe my part ereall begone. Spirit. Profperity isbarren : all men fay The foil is belt where there's the deep&way. Life is for work, and not to fpend in play. Now fow thy feed : labour while it is day. The Huntfman feeks his game in barren plains : Dirty land anfwers belt the Plowmans pains. Wilt thou not bear for him a fcorners breath, That underwent for thee a turfed death ? Is not Heav'n worth thebearingof a flout ? Then blame not Juftice when it (huts thee out. Will thefe deriders Rand to what they fay, And own their words at the great dreadful day ? Then they'd be glad, when wrath (hall overtake them, To eate their words, and fay they never fpake them. Flefh. How ? Forfake all ! Ne're mention it more to me Tie be of no Religion to undo me. Spirit. is it not thine more in thy Fathers hand, Then when it is laid out at fins command ? And is that fav'd that's fpent upon thy lull ? Or which muff be a prey to thieves or ruff ? And wouldfl thou have thy riches in thy way, Where thou art pa ffingon and canft not flay? And is that loft that's fent to Heav'n before ? Hadfl thou not rather have thy friends and fore, Where thoumaift dwell for ever, in the light Of that long glorious day that fears ri;ght ? Ilefh. But who can willingly faibmit to Death, Which will bereave to of our life and breath; That laies ourfley'h to rot in loathfomgraves Where brains and eyes were, leavesbut ugly calla? Y y z Spirit.
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